Night at the British Museum
by penelope lemon
Summary: An assistant curator at the British Museum gets a taste of the tablets power...and she is not at all pleased.


The irony of being dressed in a Paolo Sebastian gown that cost twice as much as the rent on my flat was almost laughable. It was rented of course—I could never afford something this nice on an assistant curators salary—but even discounted, I would probably be eating microwave noddles out of a styrofoam cup for the rest of the month. It was worth it. The gown was pale lavender, with delicate, white beading along the trim and sleeves and it would probably be the most expensive dress I ever wore, including a wedding dress, should that ever happen.

According to my mother, if I didn't start "putting myself out there" it never would.

There was a reason for my reckless spending on a dress I would never wear after tonight; the museum was throwing a gala in honor of the newest exhibit to arrive all the way from New York. Benefactors, a few local celebrities and students were all in attendance to see the lost pharaoh...and I was the one presenting the exhibit. much to my mortification.

The sick feeling in my stomach, the one that had been tailing me since Mr. Malone informed me I would be giving the speech instead of him, rose until the back of my throat felt coppery and tight. I drew a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter and trying not to crash and die before the biggest night of my life. I pulled up to the security gate of the museum and flashed my badge, but Tilly was working the stand and I knew she would try to keep me there for as long as possible.

She waved from the security window and indicated for me to roll my window down. I did so reluctantly and smiled.

"Hi Tilly," I said.

"You look fabulous tonight," Tilly said, eyeing my beaded gown. I opened my mouth to thank her, but she continued over me. "Must be nice, going to a fancy ball and rubbing shoulders with the Queen."

"Er, not exactly," I replied. "The Queen definitely won't be in attendance."

"Yeah, you look like a princess either way. Don't ask me to join your little party, because I can't. Someone has to man the gate, you see, so don't ask."

"I won't," I said and inched my car closer to the boom barrier. The muffler rattled as it idled.

"Good, because, as the most vigilant night guard employed by the British Museum, I've got to keep my post."

"You'll be missed," I said, "Could you maybe let me in?"

"Oh, right." Tilly flipped the switch and lifted the barrier, waving me through. "Have a good night, Vicky."

I waved to her, shoving my badge back in my clutch, along with the notes for my speech. I circled the front of the museum, lit with spotlights and a carpet rolled out on the front steps to welcome the attendees. A line of expensive cars filed past the valets, and guests in black tie made their way through the main entrance. I parked behind the museum, using my badge to enter in through the employee doors. I had no desire to try and explain to a valet that he needed to turn the key and press the gas in to get my old car started.

I parked, entered, and walked through the darkened exhibits to the Great Court, where the gala would be held. My heels clicked along the floor, echoing in the empty wings of the museum. In the main hall, waiters walked the marble floor, offering flutes of champagne, one of which I took. Velvet tapestries hung from the walls and the glass and steel dome over the courtyard glowed in the late twilight. On the stage, the sarcophagus' of Ahkmenrah, Merenkahre and Shepseheret were displayed behind protective glass. My eyes lingered on their gold painted faces and I nearly knocked into a man in a suite.

He turned, and smiled when he recognized me.

"Mr. Daley, I mean, Larry, hi," I said and stuck out my hand, which he shook. "I'm surprised to see you here."

"Me too," Larry said, "I actually didn't think I would be welcomed back after the first time. You look wonderful, by the way."

"Thank you."

Larry had accompanied the mummy to the museum weeks ago for a conservation job, but the drop off had left many open ended questions, like why there was a defibrillator with the Xiangliu and what had happened to the nose of Sir Lancelot's wax figure. The director and Mr. Malone were in a furry the following days, but we never got a clear answer as to what happened that night. The Natural History Museum offered to let us keep the mummy on a permanent basis, perhaps as an apology. The sarcophagus spent the next few weeks in the archives, undergoing testing and cleaning and press releases before the grand unveiling, tonight. After tonight, the lost prince would be officially displayed in the Ancient Egypt wing of the museum.

We stood there awkwardly for a few moments. Larry cleared his throat.

"Good turn out, isn't it?" he asked.

I nodded. "With any luck we'll be able to ring in a few more donations for the new dig site."

"Well, I told everyone to be on their best behavior, so hopefully."

I frowned, confused, but Larry smiled at me and excused himself. I watched him walk off, before spying Mr. Malone, the Egyptology curator and my boss, at the far end of the room. He was an old man, nearing retirement, and told me that he had done enough speeches at enough charity galas to last him a life time and he wasn't about to do one more. So the responsibility was turned to me, his assistant. I thought about the speech again and nervously downed the rest of my bubbly.

No one told me anything about public speaking when I was getting my masters in archaeology. There was a reason I decided to specialized in dead pharaohs.

The director took the stage, tapping the mic for attention. His words bled together as he welcomed everyone and thanked them for their support of the museum. My heart started pounding and my ears began ringing and his voice was lost to me until I heard my name.

"Please welcome our assistant curator, Miss Victoria Binski."

Everything came back in a rush and as I moved towards the stage, people began clapping. I lifted the hem of my dress, desperately thinking, _'don't trip, don't trip, don't trip'_ as I climbed up onto the stage. The director stepped down and I took his place. I leaned over the microphone, heart still beating fast.

"Thank you," I said and the feedback from the mic whined painfully. I smiled. "After days of negotiations, weeks of preparations and hours of hard work from our dedicated archivists, I'm proud to present to you the mummy of King Ahkmenrah..."

The crowed cheered and I continued my speech, venturing into the history behind the sarcophagus . I told about Merenkahre and his reign, the gifts he gave his sons, the legend of the tablet. I kept it short, knowing that people were only at the gala to socialize and drink, but ended it with what I thought was a coy reminder of why the patrons had been invited to the gala in the first place.

"The ancient family is almost complete," I finished, "Substantial evidence has been made know that the eldest, exiled son, Khamunrah, likely spent his finals days with the Hittites. A new dig is underway in Syria, and with donations from benefactors such as yourselves we can bring him home to the British Museum and complete the line. Thank you."

The spotlight was dropped and I caught the look on Larry's face as he stood near the back. He looked uncomfortable, and I felt a new wave of nausea come over me, wondering if my speech had really been that boring. Applause echoed below the glass ceiling and I was grateful when the party continued and people's attention was drawn elsewhere. I grabbed another drink from a passing waiter, feeling relieved and nervous and embarrassed and proud all wrapped in a shimmering lace gown I was scared to breath in for fear of ripping the seam stitching. Mr. Malone hobbled up to me, his cane thumping on the floor.

"A very nice speech Vicky," he said warmly.

"Thanks," I replied, "You didn't think it was to, uh, dry?"

He shook his head. "Don't worry dear, you did a fine job presenting the royal family. Now, if we could just convince the museum to expand the Egyptian wing and fund the expedition to bring Khamunrah's body back, then I can die happy."

"We could always take the wax figure from the Smithsonian and dress it up in gauze. I'm sure no one would notice."

My attempt at humor was not appreciated.

Mr. Malone wandered off and I meandered through the crowd, accepting compliments and greeting guests, but spending most of my time against a far wall, drinking free champagne. I was much more comfortable deciphering Old Kingdom hieroglyphics than I was trying to navigate small talk. The gala wound down around one in the morning, when the sarcophagus' were removed from their glass cases and taken back down to the basement. Mr. Malone and I were talking to an arts dealer when I saw Larry make his way to the exit. I went after him.

"Mr. Daley," I called at the door. He stopped and turned around. "I just wanted to say thanks again for giving us the prince."

"You're welcome," he said, "It wasn't easy saying bye, but I knew he wanted to be here with his parents."

I nodded, trying to ignore the odd phrasing of his statement. There was something intimate about working so closely with history, but it seemed like Larry needed to get out of the museum more. Talk to actual people that were alive. It was a few seconds before he spoke again.

"How close are they to finding Kahmunrah's mummy?"

"Extremely, if the funding keeps up," I replied, "And when they do, he will be joined here with his parents and brother."

Larry snorted. "Great, the ultimate family reunion from hell."

I gave a short, awkward laugh. Larry turned to go.

"Great speech by the way," he said over his shoulder.

"Have a good flight."

I waved him off, watching him climb into a cab, before reentering the museum. The Great Court was empty except for the waiters and janitors cleaning up. I walked through the museum to the Egypt wing, where the sarcophagus s had been dropped off. I wasn't sure why, but after all the bustle of the party, I wanted a few quiet moments with the ancients. It's not like I hadn't had the opportunity before. Most nights after testing I would linger with the sarcophagus or walk through the darkened, empty museum. It was a nice chance to clear my head, and despite being tired from the gala, that seemed to be what I needed.

I must have had more to drink than I thought because I was almost certain I saw one of the exhibits move, a Greek statue, but when I did a double take, the stone bust was motionless. I continued on my way, seriously questioning my tolerance for alcohol. The Ancient Egypt room was an expansive, gold plated exhibit, with a glass floor that had actual sand from the original dig site of 1938. Tomorrow morning, workers would be in to set up the display and the information plaques for Ahkmenrah, but for now, the room was eerily quiet and dark.

I stepped up to the newest addition, the young princes' sarcophagus . Over the past few weeks I had poured over every inch of the engravings and symbols, but the excited feeling in me still hadn't worn off. I wasn't sure how to describe it, other than pure childlike wonderment. Here, inches from me, stood a man who once ruled Egypt thousands of years ago. In preserving history, we had, in a way, bridged a gap of time. It was a little narcissistic to think, but I still found it curious that a student and a pharaoh could be in the same room, separated by only a wood coffin.

Well, that, and thousands of years of death and decay.

I sighed, smiling to myself.

As I stood there, in the dim, I thought I heard a noise, a sort of knocking, coming from...inside the sarcophagus?

My brow furrowed.

I leaned closer, feeling incredibly stupid, but not knowing what else to do. I leaned my ear against the coffin and heard it again; tapping. I yelped, jumped back, and the sarcophagus burst open. I screamed, my heel caught the hem of my dress and I went sprawling backwards as something lunged at me from inside. _A person_. I saw a flash of gold, and heard the hiss of a weapon being drawn, and in a few short seconds I was on my back with a man straddling my hips, holding a sickle sword to my neck.

I screamed bloody murder, curled my hand into a first, and threw a wild punch. He blocked it, taking hold of my wrist and pinning it back against the floor. The sickle sword pressed into my skin as he leaned over me.

"Before I slit your throat from ear to ear, tell me one thing," he murmured. My breath came out in short, frightened huffs and I kicked my legs trying to throw him off, but between the heels and the ridiculously expensive gown, I couldn't put up much of a fight. His hard gaze suddenly melted into a bright grin and he laughed through the second part of his question. "Tell me...what's your name?"

I blinked, dumbfounded. He laughed and pushed himself off me.

From the other end of the exhibit I heard someone else begin to laugh.

"Vicky! You should have seen your face! I've never seen anything so pathetic in my life! Oh, I'm so glad I got that on the security camera."

I craned my neck around to see Tilly entering the Ancient Egypt wing, practically laughing herself to tears. I turned back to look at the man who had attacked me. He grinned down at me, shrugging. I continued to lay there, shock slowly turning into annoyance.

"Sorry," he said, "She required me do it."

He offered his hand to help me up. Furious, I slapped it away and clambered to my feet, looking down at my gown that now had a large tear in the back where I had tripped over it. I bunched up the shredded fabric in one hand, fuming. I spun around as Tilly joined us by the sarcophagus s.

"What have you done Tilly!" I snapped. "You've tampered with a four thousand year old mummy, let some asshole into a restricted part of the museum, frightened me half to death and ruined the dress that I am now going to have to pay for! I don't have that kind of money! And as for you!" I wheeled around, pointing a finger at the impostor, who was still smiling at me smugly. "I hoped you enjoyed the inside of the coffin because when I am done with you, you are going to wish you were dead."

He gave a good humored nod. "I've always wondered what that is like."

He and Tilly laughed and my cheeks flared.

"You could have at least put a little more thought into the costume," I sneered, if only to find something to mock other than myself. In all honesty, it was quite good. He removed his _pschent_ , the crown, which I suspected was made of some kind of plastic, and tucked it under one arm. The _khopesh_ rested loosely by his side. He spun it in his hand and it winked in the low light. My fingers drifted to my throat, where the blade had been; that had felt frighteningly real. I looked back up at him. "Wait until Mr. Malone hears about this."

I would have turned away and stalked out of the room, but instead I went to the sarcophagus, worried that it was ruined or that the mummy had been crushed in the process of this stupid prank. I barley glanced it over, noticing it was empty, before my blood ran cold.

"Where is it?" I asked, looking to Tilly. "That was an extremely delicate artifact and should only be handled by those highly trained to do so! Where have you put it?"

Tilly pointed to man and he raised his hand admittedly.

"Present," he said, "And I do not appreciate being called "delicate"."

"Enough with the joke, you've had your laugh," I said, "Start giving me answers or you two will be in bigger trouble than you already are."

They exchanged glances, almost guilty in nature, and I began to suspect the worst.

"I think we best tell her the truth," he said and Tilly shrugged. He set down the crown and sickle sword and went to the other two sarcophagus', opening each. Two more people stepped out, giving me curious looks. They too were dressed like the royalty of Ancient Egypt, with topaz beads and pendants made of gold, thin, fine linen and even the khol on their eyes.

 _Still fake_ , I told myself.

"Oh, she's very pretty," the woman commented and I let her believe that I always dressed in Paolo Sebastian, instead of my typical outfit of mismatched socks and band t shirts I'd gathered from old boyfriends.

"About time," the old man sighed, resting on his scepter. On Marenkahre's scepter that was extremely old and symbolic and not to be played with. "That had to be one of the longest celebrations I've ever attended. Longer than _wepet-renpet_ , wouldn't you say?"

The woman nodded.

I looked between the two, then at Tilly, then at the young man who nearly gave me a heart attack. I closed my eyes, drawing a deep breath and rubbing my temple.

"Someone please explain to me what is going on so I don't start screaming again."

The man glanced around the group. "Should I do the honors?" he asked.

"Well, you nearly took her head off, so yeah, I'd say you owe it to her," Tilly said and he grinned, turning to me again.

"How about we take a seat? You look a little pale."

"An occupational hazard since my office is in the basement," I grumbled, glad that I could still make terrible jokes while being the butt end of an elaborate prank.

We peeled away from the group and sat down on one of the display cases in the corner of the room. If Mr. Malone saw us sitting on the glass, he'd kill over from the shock, but given the circumstances of tonight I figured it was okay. I sighed adjusting the ripped part of my dress so I wouldn't tear it further. I looked up at him, suddenly feeling very tired. The stress of the speech, the champagne, the adrenaline from before, all seemed to seep out of my system until all that was left was irritation and exhaustion. At this point, I just wanted the night to end.

"So, how much did Tilly pay you?" I asked.

"She didn't," he said breezily and his constant good nature was beginning to get on my nerves. "I promise to tell you everything, in all honesty, but you have to promise me something in return; you can't interrupted until I've said everything I need to."

I nodded wearily. He stared at me for a few seconds, gauging my reaction as his dark brown eyes flickered over my face. I gave him my best I-could-care-less-just-get-on-with-it look and he gave me a lopsided smile. He launched into a very elaborate story about being the actual Pharaoh Ahkmenrah and how the legend of the tablet, was real. He talked about coming to life at night, his years in the Museum of Natural History New York, and even mentioned Larry by name. He talked up until a few weeks ago and what happened that night at the British Museum when the tablet was corroding. I kept quiet as promised until he had finished. He looked at me, waiting to see what I would say.

I blinked slowly as I absorbed the information, but nothing was making sense.

"Please, just tell me your real name," I sighed. It was a creative story, I gave him that, but this had gone on long enough.

"I did," he said, "It's Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King, and ruler of the land of my fathers."

"Okay then," I sighed, standing up. My patience had worn thin, and this all was too weird and absurd to be real. If they weren't going to tell me how they pulled off the hoax, or where they put the real mummys, then I wasn't going to bother. I certainly wasn't going to be present in the inevitable chance they were caught. "I had way more to drink tonight than I thought. I need to go. I need to leave." I started towards the exit, and he stood up after me.

"Wait, Vicky," he said.

I ignored him and pointed a finger at Tilly, who was talking with the other two by the sarcophagus. "A great production you guys, really. Way to commit to your roles. You better put this all back together before the workers come in to set up the display."

"Victoria, don't be like that!" Tilly called after me, but I was already striding through the other exhibits. "Come on, we need your help!"

I tossed my hand dismissively, and made my way to the employee elevator. The doors opened, and I punched the button for the ground floor. While I waited for the doors to close, I backed up against the far wall and sighed deeply. I felt very at odds with myself. It was only a prank, I knew that, but he had spoken so earnestly about Larry and the tablet, it was difficult to brush it off as so. The doors dinged as they began to close, and as I watched them slide closed, someone walked past.

My mouth dropped open as Marie Antoinette, a lace fan in hand, strode by. She glanced over at me and smiled. I knew it was Marie because I had walked past her wax figurine multiple times in the French Revolution display on the third floor. I tracked her with my eyes, full white pompadour and all, until the doors to the elevator closed completely.

I screamed again.


End file.
